Pride

by Rachel Vincent

  Tranquilized for my own good. The guys would never let me live that one down.

  “How’s Kaci?”

  Jace swiveled on his rump to watch me slink across the room toward my suitcase in search of a clean shirt. I needed a shower, but didn’t want to waste time on such trivialities just then. “She’s been asking for you. She won’t talk to anyone else. Malone went in to see her, and she wouldn’t even look at him. You should have seen him when he came out. He was so mad he wouldn’t say what happened, but Lucas overheard it from the hall.”

  I pulled off the T-shirt I’d slept in and tossed it onto the pile of dirty clothes in one corner. “Well?” I faced Jace when it became clear that he was waiting for my response. “What did he say?”

  “She told him to get the hell out of her room before she started screaming.”

  “Screaming?” I rummaged through the pile of clothes in my suitcase, looking for something that wasn’t too wrinkled. But my entire wardrobe looked as if it had been wadded into one big ball, probably by someone searching for clothes for Kaci.

  “Yeah. And apparently he didn’t move fast enough to please her, because she did start screaming, and we could hear her loud and clear from the living room.”

  Unimpressed, I shrugged as I pulled a black lace bra from the top pocket of the suitcase. “That’s not hard to believe.”

  “The living room of this cabin, not the lodge.”

  Oh. Attagirl.

  With my back to Jace, I unhooked my bra and tossed it onto the pile of clothes in the corner, then scooped myself into the clean one. “So she’s okay?”

  “Yeah. That was about an hour ago, and they haven’t sent anyone in since. They’re waiting for you to wake up and go talk to her.”

  “Are they planning to ask nicely?” My words were muffled as I pulled a black ribbed T-shirt over my head. I’d chosen it to remind everyone that I was still an enforcer, even if I was suspended. At least for the moment.

  Jace huffed behind me as I shoved the sleeves of my shirt halfway to my elbows. “I doubt they’ll ask at all,” he said, smiling gently. “After your last big speech, they know you’ll do it because it’s the ‘right’ thing to do.”

  I should have known being nice would come back to bite me on the ass.

  Rooting through the bag again, I tugged my hairbrush from a tangle of sleeves and ran it through my hair. My ponytail was gone, and the rubber band was nowhere to be found.

  I kept my back to Jace as I asked the next question, both because I didn’t want him to see my face and because I didn’t really want to know the answer. “What about Marc? What did Daddy do?”

  Jace sighed, and my shoulders sagged, my brush pausing in midstroke. I knew the truth before he even said it. “They didn’t give him any choice, Faythe. It was all over by the time Michael and I got back, so I didn’t hear what happened, but we both know your father would never have agreed to Marc’s sentence if he had any way out of it.”

  No! How the hell could he do it?

  “That’s bullshit, and you know it!” My fist slammed into the side of my soft-shell suitcase, which flew across the dresser and smashed into the dark wood-paneled wall. The knuckles of my right hand throbbed with my pulse; I’d skinned them on the rough carpet weave of the bag. “There are always choices. Plenty of choices. What there’s never enough of is courage—willingness to push past the easy option and see what else is available.”

  Jace scowled, an edge of anger showing through the sympathy defining his expression. “You think it was easy for your dad to lose Marc?”

  “No.” I closed my eyes and let myself sag against the dresser. “Of course not.” Hell, there were times I thought he liked Marc better than me. “I just can’t believe he did it. He’s always talking about how important it is to do what’s right. To keep those in power from running over those in need. But I guess that’s a tendency he learned from the rest of the council—too much talk and not enough action. Too much politics, and not enough truth. If he and Uncle Rick would stand up to the others one good time—really lay it out loud and clear—this whole thing would be over in an hour.”

  “Maybe, but ‘over’ doesn’t necessarily mean a happy ending.” A sad smile tugged at the corner of Jace’s mouth as he watched me. “You think you have all the answers?”

  “In life? No.” I plucked a folded pair of socks from the suitcase on the floor. “But in this case…yes. If my dad wants to keep this Pride intact, it’s time for him and his allies to shut their mouths and start talking with their fists.”

  “What if everyone else has the same idea?”

  “I don’t know.” I shrugged, pulling one sock free of its mate as I sank onto the nearest bed. “They lose, we win, and everyone goes home? Good triumphs over evil? That’s how it works in movies.”

  Jace shook his head in sympathy and sat next to me. “This isn’t Hollywood. If you want to change the system, you’re going to have to do it from the inside. Even if Marc isn’t there to help.”

  My eyes watered, and I wiped them on the clean sock, hoping Jace hadn’t noticed. But of course, he had.

  “I’m so sorry, Faythe.”

  “It’s not your fault.” Though I knew how he felt, as if he were somehow responsible, just because his bastard of a stepfather was spearheading the attempt to knock my world off its axis. But this had nothing to do with Jace. It was all Malone, and his petty grudges and power intoxication.

  Fine. Maybe I couldn’t stop them from kicking Marc out, but they couldn’t stop me from going with him. We’d go together. After all, they couldn’t execute me if they couldn’t find me. Right?

  Finally dressed, I stomped toward the door on my way to find Marc, but Jace appeared in my path from out of nowhere. I hadn’t even seen him get up. “Move,” I ordered.

  He shook his head, arms crossed firmly over his chest. “I know what you’re thinking and I understand, but you can’t go.”

  “I can’t do this with you right now, Jace. You know how I—”

  A pained look crossed his face, chased away almost instantly by ironclad resolution. “This has nothing to do with us. I want to see you happy, even if it isn’t with me. But you can’t go with him.”

  I tried to shove him out of my way, but Jace refused to budge. I shoved harder, and he took my upper arms in both hands. “Think about Kaci. You’re the only one she’ll talk to. She needs you. Don’t do this to her.”

  As badly as I hated to leave her, Kaci would be fine. My mother would know how best to help her. So would Manx. I tried to jerk my arms from his grip, but he wouldn’t let go.

  Jace saw the determination in my eyes, and he frowned. “Hell, don’t do this to Marc. What will his life be like if you go with him? He’d spend every day fighting for you, and even Marc can’t fight forever.”

  Fear sank through me like an anchor to the seafloor, pinning me to the spot where I stood. But Jace wasn’t done.

  “That’s assuming the council doesn’t go after him for kidnapping you. And you know Calvin would do it.”

  He was right. Marc was as good as dead if I went with him. There were strays in the free zone who would kill him for a shot at me. If the council didn’t get him first.

  And my father would waste incalculable time and resources looking for me.

  Damn it!

  I exhaled slowly, and when my shoulders slumped in defeat, Jace let go of my arms. “This isn’t over,” I whispered as he pulled me into a hug that bruised my heart as much as it comforted me. My eyes watered, and I blinked away tears. I would not cry about this again. I was done crying. It was time to get mad.

  Anger was so much more productive than tears.

  I pulled away from Jace gently so he wouldn’t take it personally, and met his eyes with a fresh layer of determination reinforcing my resolve. I would do what the council wanted; I would help them with Kaci. But I’d do it my way, and if they couldn’t handle that, they could go fuck themselves.

  I had nothing left to
lose. Except for my life, which had less and less value each time they cut something out of it. So while I was playing their game, I would also be playing mine. I would find a way to get Marc back into the Pride. A loophole or something.

  If I couldn’t talk him out of submitting, his exile would only be temporary. I would see to that.

  Bending, I snatched my hiking boots from the floor and pulled them on one at a time, so angry I tugged the laces tight enough to cut off the circulation in my foot, then had to loosen them. “When is Marc leaving?”

  “His plane takes off first thing in the morning.”

  “Where is he?”

  “In his room,” Jace said, and I glanced at the wall separating me from Marc, now aware that he’d probably heard every word we’d said.

  “What about everyone else?” The cabin was silent around us, but for the distant hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen.

  “At the lodge. Your dad said to take you over when you woke up.” He followed me out of the bedroom and across the living room.

  “Fine.” I pulled open the front door and kicked the screen with one foot. It crashed into the exterior wall of the cabin then bounced back, and I held it open for him. “Consider your duty done.”

  He stepped outside and I pulled the screen shut behind him, locking it with a quick flip of one finger. “What are you doing?” Jace demanded, rattling the handle.

  Instead of answering, I closed the heavy oak door in his face and twisted the knob lock, then slid the security chain into place.

  “Faythe! It isn’t really bringing you in if you don’t come with me!”

  “I’ll be there in a few minutes. Walk slowly. I’ll catch up.”

  “No. Faythe! Open the damn door!” Jace’s fist slammed into the screen door and Plexiglas splintered. He could tear the screen right off its hinges if he wanted to, but the solid oak panel would take him much longer to get through. Satisfied for the moment, I was headed toward the kitchen to secure the back entrance when footsteps clomped across the front porch and his knuckles rapped the window, rattling it in its frame. “Don’t make me break the glass, Faythe. You know I’ll do it.”

  I exhaled in frustration, then marched back to the front door and unlocked it.

  “Half an hour, Jace.” I pulled the door open and stared at him through the screen, begging wordlessly for a few minutes alone with Marc. “Is that too much for a dying woman to ask?”

  He scowled, unamused. “You are not dying.”

  “Somehow I doubt your stepfather would agree.”

  Hinges creaked behind me and I turned to see Marc standing in his bedroom doorway wearing a faded Poison concert T-shirt and jeans with a hole in one knee. “What the hell are you doing, Faythe?”

  “Bargaining for a little privacy. I need to talk to you, and I’m tired of everyone overhearing every word we say.”

  Marc hesitated, watching my eyes for several seconds. Then his gaze shifted from me to Jace, and he nodded.

  “Marc…” Jace complained, and I turned to find confliction drawn in the deep lines around his frown.

  “Go,” Marc ordered, and Jace glanced back and forth between us in uncertainty. Technically, Marc had no authority over him anymore. But I wasn’t going to tell him that, and apparently Jace wasn’t, either.

  “I’ll wait here—on the porch—for half an hour. But the deal’s off if anyone comes out here. Or calls.”

  “Fine. Thank you.” I forced a small smile of gratitude, but he turned away before it was fully formed. I closed the door again, trying not to think about the dejection in his eyes. I had enough of my own emotional shit to shovel at the moment. I’d deal with Jace later. Assuming I had a later.

  “What was that all about?” Marc leaned against the bedroom door frame and crossed his arms, pulling his shirt snug across the well-defined planes and bulges of his chest. The concert tee was his idea of casual Friday, though it was only Thursday. We’d been on the mountain four days, and so far I’d killed a stray, been gored, counseled a feral tabby and gotten Marc exiled.

  Overall, not my best week.

  “Nothing.” I leaned with the sole of one boot against the closed front door, trying to decide whether to yell at him for leaving or beg him to stay. “You don’t have to go, you know. You can’t just roll over and bare your throat for Malone.”

  He sighed and shook his head wearily. “Don’t do this, Faythe. It’s over, and you have to let it go. Let me go.”

  “No.” I shoved away from the door with my foot, jogging after him into his room. He swung the bedroom door shut but I slapped it aside with one palm. “Hell no. I’m not going to let you walk away from this. From me.”

  Marc sat on the rumpled right-hand bed next to his packed suitcase, his elbows resting on his knees. “What do you want, Faythe? What the hell do you want from me?” When he looked up, I saw fire in his eyes—a familiar blaze of indignation that made my heart thump harder in the hope that he might get mad enough to save himself. To save us, if we were to ever be us again. And I’d always assumed we eventually would be.

  “I want you to do something, instead of bending over while they fuck you. I want you to stand up for what you want!”

  “That’s not what you want.” He rose, eyes glittering furiously in spite of little available light, and stepped into my personal space. “I stood up for what I wanted two months ago and you handed me my heart—not to mention my balls—all wrapped up in your fucking pride and independence. And now you stand here yelling at me for not being willing to sing that song all over again? That’s bullshit, Faythe. What is this about? What do you really want from me?”

  “I said I didn’t want your damn ring,” I said, flashing back to the night we’d broken up “I never said I didn’t want you.” My words came out in a gutless whisper, which was the most I could manage without either crying or shouting. “This was not in the plan.”

  He huffed and leaned with both palms flat on the dresser, his back to me. “Plans change.”

  “Not if you don’t let them.”

  Marc shook his head in either disgust or frustration; I couldn’t tell which. “When are you going to learn? When are you going to grow the fuck up and understand that you don’t make all the rules. Hell, you don’t make any of the rules, and neither do I.” He straightened and faced me expectantly, like he really wanted an answer, but I had no idea what to say because he was right. But he wasn’t done.

  “You don’t want me to stand against the council. You want a magic wand, so you can walk around smacking people with it until everything’s just the way you like it. But guess what, Faythe? Life doesn’t work like that. Life bites, and the harder you fight it, the more leverage it has to tear your heart right out of your chest. And if you really want to wake this particular sleeping dog, the truth is that if you’d just taken that ‘damn ring’ five years ago, none of this shit would ever have happened!”

  Stunned, I stared at Marc, blinking in silence as pain ripped through my chest, an echo of what Radley had done to my stomach, only infinitely worse. More personal. More agonizing. My breath abandoned my body in one long, ragged exhale. I fell against the wall and slid to the floor, my arms wrapped around my knees.

  “I’m sorry.” Marc’s arms fell limp at his sides and his head dropped in defeat. Or in regret. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

  “Yes, you should have. It’s the truth.” If I’d married him the first time he’d asked me, we’d probably have a home of our own several miles from the ranch, and a backyard full of swings and sandboxes. No excitement and no danger—for me at least. No capital crimes, no dead ex and no possibility of an execution.

  “I’ve messed everything up. I know.” And in that moment, if I could have taken it all back, I would have.

  Marc exhaled deeply, and the sound settled into a fragile, excruciating silence. In spite of everything I’d done, he still respected me too much to sugarcoat the truth. To absolve me of all blame. And as much as it hurt, I loved him
for it.

  “Tell me what you want, Faythe. Just tell me what you want me to do, and I’ll do it.”

  I wanted a do over. A time machine. That magic wand. But real life didn’t have any easy outs, and very few happily-ever-afters. The real world was more like a Choose Your Own Adventure book, with most of the choices ripped out before you even opened the cover.

  “I…” I stared at the floor so I wouldn’t have to meet his eyes while I impaled my heart on my sleeve, where it could be shredded by a single sharp word from him. “I want you to love me enough to stay.”

  There, I’d said it—I’d admitted aloud what I hadn’t once said directly in the ten weeks since we’d broken up. And it was too late to take it back now, no matter how he reacted.

  I looked up to find surprise in the slack line of Marc’s mouth and the slight tilt of his head. Pain rippled across his features like a repressed shudder, and when he spoke, it echoed in his voice, hollow and hurt.

  “I’m walking away because I love you. Because Calvin Malone is after me, not you, and if I go, he’ll leave you alone.”

  Twenty

  “What?” I blinked, trying to make sense of the new information, without much luck. “Why would he leave me alone once you’re gone?”

  Marc gave me one hand, and I let him pull me up. “Malone never approved of your dad taking me in, and Blackwell can’t see anything beyond his damn good old days. They aren’t the only ones, either. This has been coming for a long time, and now they’ve found a way to get rid of me. They’ll make your dad choose between you and me.”

  I shook my head, still confused. “I don’t understand. How is Daddy choosing between us?”

  “Malone gave him a choice—off the record, of course. If Greg doesn’t fight my exile, Malone—as the head of the tribunal—will suddenly decide the death penalty isn’t warranted for you.”

  What? “You can’t be serious.” Yet suddenly Malone’s phony fear for my safety—even as he pushed to have me executed—made sense. The trumped-up charge against Marc was intended to force my father’s hand, to make him kick Marc out.